


Silver Springs

by BrevityIsTheSoulOfLingerie



Series: This Love [5]
Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Cheating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 10:42:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14851235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrevityIsTheSoulOfLingerie/pseuds/BrevityIsTheSoulOfLingerie
Summary: It's trouble in paradise when Chloe thinks Beca is cheating on her.  Sorry!!





	Silver Springs

“What the fuck is she to you, Beca?”  I say, shoving her phone at her. “She’s all over your texts and emails.  Are you fucking her?”

 

**Flashback (Six months ago)**

 

“They want me to lead the writing team.” 

 

“That’s great, babe!”  I said as I folded into the couch next to her.  “What’s the show about?” 

 

“Uh, well, it’s about the heirs to a chocolate bar fortune – kind of a weird mix between  _ Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory  _ and  _ Dallas _ ,” said Beca, who was clearly not committed to the idea.  

 

Her excitement waned even further because the alleged “writing team” was non-existent.  Beca was one of the only constants after one of the writers went out on early maternity leave.  Another had an intervention and got sent to rehab, and a few just couldn’t hack it and quit.

 

That translated to Beca being out of the house frequently for long, late nights locked in a windowless room downing Red Bulls to try and eek out a reasonably funny and coherent script in time for the May upfronts.  It quickly started to take a toll on her sleep and her overall disposition, which wasn’t all that sunny to begin with. 

 

She’d bring pages home for me to read to get a second opinion and a fresh set of eyes.  They weren’t bad, but you can only do so much to make candy-making funny. 

 

We quickly agreed the show wasn’t anything either of us would watch. Regardless, Beca threw herself into the project, as she did with everything.  A month later, she’d reconstituted a new writing team – all young, green writers, but with fresh ideas –  and they got to work. 

 

Almost immediately, Beca’s whole outlook seemed to do a 180.  She was happier – as happy as Beca gets – and noticeably more relaxed, which should have been good.  I should have been happy for her. 

 

But I couldn’t.  Anger, jealousy and insecurity took that opportunity to rear their ugly heads. 

 

XXX

 

I was out by the pool reading a new script when my phone rang.  Beca. 

 

“Hi, babe.  Are you on your way home?”  

 

“Uh, no.  I was calling to tell you, it’s going to be another late night.  Unfortunately, we’ve got a bunch of re-writes in front of us. The producers weren’t so thrilled with what we handed them today.”  

 

“That sucks, babe.  I’m sorry. Can I make you dinner?”

 

“Thanks, but don’t worry about it, Chlo. I’ll just grab something with the team.” 

 

“Oh, OK.”  I hadn’t really seen Beca in three weeks and I missed her, but there was also something nagging at the back of my head.  Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on, but couldn’t shake either. 

 

Then I heard it.  In the background.  A sweet, lilting voice.  “Becs...” 

 

No one calls Beca “Becs” except me. 

 

“C’mon.  We’re waiting on you to go,” the disembodied voice continued. 

 

Immediately my Spidey sense tingled. Go?  Didn’t Beca just say they were working late?

 

“Who’s that?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Beca, who was that?”

 

“Oh, that’s Maddie.  One of the writers.” 

 

“Uh-huh.  Where are you guys going?”

 

“What?  Nowhere.  I told you, we’re in it for the long haul tonight.” 

 

“But – “

 

“Hey, uh, Chlo, I need to run.  We just got more notes on the script.” 

 

“Oh, OK babe. Well, I’ll see you tonight.  Love you.” 

 

“You too.”  

 

_ Click. _

 

That was the last I talked to Beca for two days.  She was gone the next morning before I got up and when I got home from dinner with the director on my new film, she was passed out in bed.

 

The following morning, I had yoga class and Beca had to go to the DMV to renew her driver’s license before she headed off to the studio. 

 

I left her voicemail messages throughout the day, telling her I was thinking about her, wishing her luck with the script. I texted her to remind her to get something in her stomach other than Oreos and Red Bull.  

 

But all I got in return was silence.  

 

That night, I was on the couch feeling closer to the bottle of wine on my coffee table than to my wife when Beca came home, earlier than she had in weeks. 

 

“Beca?” I hopped up to greet her, thrilled to see her and excited by the thought that maybe she missed me.  Maybe she came home early so that we could have dinner, cuddle, or do…something else. 

 

“You’re home!” I kissed her lips, but as I got closer to her, I smelled the alcohol on her.  Normally, I wouldn’t care, but this time, it bothered me. “Are – are you drunk?”

 

“No, baby.  We just went out for dinner, and dinner led to a few drinks.” 

 

“How did you get home?”

  
“Uh, Maddie.” 

 

“She wasn’t drinking?” 

 

“I, uh, I don’t really remember, but I’m here now.  Kiss me.” Beca reached out for me and I drew her closer.  A drunk Beca is a cuddly Beca, and I’ve missed her – missed this – so much that I can’t even be mad at her until…

 

My lips were on her neck and she smelled…different.   It’s not just the alcohol. It was… perfume. Beca doesn’t wear perfume.  Ever. 

 

I retracted my mouth and Beca’s eyes opened.  “What’s wrong, Chlo?”

 

I looked at her.  Studied her – her hair, her eyes, her mouth – looking for anything else out of place about her, and then my eyes land on her jacket. 

 

I grabbed the lapels and opened it to look at it.  To look at her. It was definitely not hers. Way too big. 

 

Oh god.  

 

My throat started to burn as the bile bubbled up, but I willed myself to settle down.  

 

Beca would never…

 

I told myself that I didn’t know the whole story.  That there had to be a reasonable explanation. That I should give Beca the benefit of the doubt.  The only way to do that was to just rip off the band-aid. 

 

“Beca, I think you grabbed the wrong jacket.  This isn’t yours, is it?”…

 

Beca looked down at the coat, at the sleeves that were well past her knuckles.  “No. It’s Maddie’s.”

 

I didn’t even know this girl and already I was starting to really hate her.  

 

Beca took it off, “She spilled beer on mine and felt bad so she took it to get it dry cleaned and gave me hers.”

 

“Ah,” I said, completely unconvinced. 

 

Beca threw it over the chair, yawning.  “I’m going to bed, Chlo. See you in there?”  She jerked her head towards our bedroom. 

 

And with that, the conversation ended.  She didn’t try to convince me of anything, but seemed to accept that I accepted her explanation at face value, almost as if she were shrugging me off. 

 

Following that, Beca seemed to be on ‘good behavior.’   As if she noticed that I noticed the series of weird events of late and was just trying to shield herself by building up goodwill that she could use as evidence of her innocence if I brought up the ‘Maddie thing’ again.   She was home for dinner every night and even made an effort to watch some TV with me before we’d go to bed. 

 

For a time, she was back to sweet Beca.  Smoothing her hand over the small of my back.  Touching my leg. Kissing my cheeks. Running her hands through my hair.   And I think about how easy it is to love her. She was -- is -- completely unassuming, open and generous – not to mention smart and funny and stunning.  

 

On one particular night after dinner, Beca sent me to the couch to find us something to watch.  She cleaned up the dishes and then plopped next to me, her hand in mine, our fingers locked together. 

 

“What did you find?” 

 

“Um, how about  _ Riverdale?”  _

 

“Sure, Chlo.”

 

I quirked an eyebrow and wondered why Beca was being so agreeable.  But, I decided it was best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

 

Still, I couldn’t ignore the volley of texts that came through on Beca’s phone.  She could have just turned off her ringtone or, better yet, shut off the phone completely.  Instead, she responded to every single message, chuckling or chortling every so often as she typed.  

 

“What’s so funny?” 

 

“Oh nothing.  Maddie keeps sending me lines from the script to see if I like them.” 

 

“Huh, she’s just kind of the Energizer bunny of scriptwriting, huh?  Never stops, even at 9 p.m.” 

 

“She’s just really passionate about her job, Chlo.” 

 

_ That better be the only thing she’s passionate about.  _

 

“It’s her first job,” Beca continued. “You remember how it was.  She’s trying to make a name for herself.”

 

_ She’ll succeed at that if she keeps fucking around with my fiancée. And it won’t be the name she wants. _

 

As if Beca sensed what I was thinking, she rested her hand high on my thigh.  Her lips attached to my neck. I’d been on a hair trigger of late, and it didn’t take much for me to hitch my leg over Beca’s lap.  

 

We were face to face.  I could look into her beautiful eyes.  “God, I’ve missed you Becs.” She kissed me and it almost felt unfamiliar at first.  Good – oh so good – but a little foreign, like we’d forgotten how to read each other. How to move with each other.  

 

In no time though, our tongues and our hips found a rhythm and it was like old times.  Beca’s mouth on mine soothed any of the concern and panic I’d been feeling. I sank into it and let myself enjoy it.  That was a mistake. 

 

Beca was sucking on my bottom lip, her fingertips sinking into my hips, when her ringtone went off. It wrenched me out of any bliss that surrounded me.  It kicked me in the stomach when Beca untangled herself from me and answered the fucking thing. 

 

Not only did she answer it, she went into another room to take the call.  Beca never hid anything from me before. Now though it’s like she’s trying to set a new precedent. New boundaries.  

 

After about 10 minutes, she came back, trying not to look too pleased with herself.  But I know Beca, and I know that smirk. 

 

“Everything OK?”

 

“Huh?” Beca looks up at me as if I’d just wrenched her out of some reverie and brought her back to her miserable reality.  “Oh. Yeah. Sorry, Chlo. It was Maddie. She wanted to tell me she’ll be in late tomorrow. Doctor’s appointment.”

 

“And she just had to talk to you about that, huh?  Couldn’t leave a voicemail? Send a text?” 

 

“I guess.  I just thought it might have been urgent, so I picked up.”  Beca’s eyes searched mine. “We’re getting really close to our deadline and we aren’t yet where we need to be with the script.  But that’s no excuse. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have picked up, especially when we were…”

 

On the surface, it made sense.  It didn’t quite answer all of my questions or quell the lingering doubt, but it was enough to at least calm the waves of uncertainty for the moment.  I hated myself for not believing Beca and, in hindsight, I should have told her how I was feeling, but I took the easier, more pleasurable route out. 

 

Beca’s lips were back on mine and I kissed her again and again until I found myself in our bed with Beca on top of me.  Her wet pussy was on mine and I swear it had never felt this good with her. She was soft and attentive, touching me the way I need to be touched – the way she knows I like to be rubbed, licked and sucked.  She wrenched my hips off the mattress when she fucked me with her tongue and I came hard in her mouth. 

 

After she stroked me down, I felt her gently licking my juices off her thighs and it sent shivers up my spine.  I pulled her up to me and kissed her, tasting myself on her. 

 

She moaned into my mouth and rolled on to her back. I followed her, half on top of her, and we were kissing again.  “Baby, I want to take care of you,” I said against her mouth, but she just stared straight ahead, dragging her fingernails up and down my bare back.  “Becs?” 

 

I watched her, my lip in between my teeth – worrying, wondering what the hell was going on with her.  She’s always been considerate in bed, making sure I come, but she always lets me take care of her too.  

 

But was different this time. 

 

“It’s OK, Chlo.  Don’t worry about it.  It’s late.”   
  


She pecked my temple and rolled over.  She didn’t see the hot tears that blazed a trail down my cheeks.  

 

**Present**

 

This morning, Beca is hanging around the house and I decide – inadvertently – to blow the top off of our relationship. 

 

She’s out by the pool, writing.  I join her at the table, setting a bottle of water in front of her before I sit. 

 

“Beca?”

 

She glances up at me, but doesn’t say anything, so I continue. 

 

“Can we talk?”

 

“Yeah. Sure.”  I can tell she’s only half listening, partly because she’s engrossed in her work, and in part because her default state these days is ‘distracted and dispondent.’

 

“Becs?”  She looks up and me again. “Can you…?”  I slowly start to shut her laptop to make sure I have her full attention on me before I continue.  “You’ve been really distant these last few weeks. Do you… I mean, is there anything you want to tell me? Or anything we should talk about?” 

 

Beca swallows hard, but she otherwise doesn’t let her face betray what she’s thinking.  

 

I hope that my words will be her kryptonite, that she’ll crumble and tell me that she’s been working too hard, that she misses me.  Instead she just shrugs her shoulders. “Not really, Chlo. This script is just impossible and it’s sucking the life out of me.” 

 

Then, I dropped the bomb.  I don’t know why I did it. I mean, I do.  I guess I needed to do it. I needed to get it off my chest.  And I should have known what would happen next.

 

“And Maddie?”   


  
“Maddie? What about her?” 

 

“Don’t play dumb with me, Beca.  She’s all you talk about. Hell, you answer her calls in the middle of our foreplay.”

 

“One time, Chloe.  One time.” Beca stares me down, hoping I’ll let it go.  When I don’t she starts to pack up her laptop. “This is ridiculous.” 

 

“Is it?  Then give me your phone.”   
  


“What?”

 

“Give me your phone.”   
  


“Why?”

 

“You’re not even defending yourself, Beca.” 

 

“I have nothing to defend myself for, and I don’t feel like I should have to in the first place.  As my fiancée, my soon-to-be-wife, you should know me. You should trust me.” 

 

“I need to have a reason to trust you, and right now, all I have are signs that you’re cheating.  You tell me you’re working late, but you come home trashed and dressed in someone else’s clothes. You don’t want me to fuck you and, aside from me, you’re the horniest person I know.  You’re moody, sullen, and distant, even more so than usual. I can continue, if you want.”

 

“Chloe, you don’t know what you’re saying.” 

 

I reach across the table, grab Beca’s phone and enter her passcode.  “Prove me wrong. Show me that you have nothing to hide.” 

 

Beca backs away, hands in the air as if to say, “You do what you need to do.”  

 

I swipe the screen and gasp when I see a huge thread between Beca and Maddie that goes back months. Maddie’s texts are littered with heart-eye emojis, winks and kissy faces.  I see the words “cute” and “sexy” and “hot.” 

 

The tears that erupt are a toxic mix of heartbreak, embarrassment, disgust, and anger.  

 

Beca rushes around the table to me, not to rip the phone away, to take my face in her hands, to kiss me, to tell me…

 

I grab her wrists. “Don’t fucking touch me, Beca.  Don’t you dare.” 

 

I push Beca back so I have room to stand, but Beca doesn’t retreat easily.    
  


“Why Chloe?” Beca’s hands snap to my waist.  “This is what you want, isn’t it? You want me to touch you, to fuck you.  To prove something that never happened. You just - you can’t prove a negative, dude. But here.” 

 

She puts the phone in front of me again, expanding the texts so I can see the entire thread.  I inhale sharply when I start to read Beca’s responses, and my hand comes up to my mouth as if I might be sick.  They are...purely Beca. One or two word answers devoid of even an exclamation point, much less an emoji. Strictly business. 

 

Beca watches me as I scroll through the conversation before crashing her lips into mine.  I fight the sensation for a mere second or two before giving into the kiss. I allow myself to be pulled in tighter as Beca’s hand cups my jaw and jerks my head to the side to suck at my pulse point.  

 

The feel of her teeth scraping is harsh against the soft skin of my neck and I try to pull away, but Beca holds me firmly in place, sucking, despite the tears that are streaming down my face.

 

I know Beca. I know that look.  Brow furrowed. Lips twisted. Fists clenched.  She won’t even look at me in an effort to not cry.  She’s hurt. She’s angry. She takes one last lick of my neck and grips my biceps, pushing me backwards to one of the lounge chairs.  

 

When the backs of my knees hit the side of the chair, they buckle and I fall onto it with Beca close behind.  In one seemingly smooth motion, Beca’s hands are up my shirt, groping at my breasts. She doesn’t even bother to tease or caress.  Instead, she just squeezes the soft mounds and tugs at my nipples before pulling back, sitting on her haunches between my legs. 

 

Beca is broken and vulnerable.  She’s resigned but calm. Almost eerily so.  She drags her forearm across her face, trying to mask the sobs and I can tell she’s trying to steel her resolve. To protect herself. From me.

 

God, how did we get here?  How did I let this happen? 

 

All of the anger that I felt towards Beca now bares down on me.   The weight of it is like getting tumbled by wave after wave in the ocean, held underwater, unable to surface for air.  Unable to orient yourself to your surroundings - which end is up? Trying to mute the panic in your head and convince yourself you’ll be fine.   

 

The trust that I feared and I swore she betrayed is now the trust that I have to try to rebuild.  I just want to take her in my arms. Comfort her. Protect her. It breaks me when I realize I’m the thing she’s guarding herself against.  

 

She pulls her head away when I cup her face to wipe the few tears that threaten to expose her.

 

“Becs…”

 

“Don’t,” she says.  I feel the rush of air on my temple as she slams her fist down into the chair, right next to my ear, missing my head by a mere wisp.  

 

This is the one and only time in our relationship that Beca has ever made me flinch. She has never been violent. She’s never laid a hand on me and I don’t expect that she ever would.  But she’s enraged. I can see it in her eyes, and I can’t blame her. 

 

My jealousy, my insecurity suffocated me.  Made me hurt the one person in this world who meant - means - everything to me.  She is seething, letting her emotions boil over into a physical manifestation of how wounded she really is. 

 

“Shirt.  Off,” she says flatly. The command comes with no trace of frantic lust or unleashed desire that it has in our many previous encounters.  Instead, it’s tinged with a bitterness that I never thought Beca was capable of. 

 

I cross my arms in front of me, gripping my shirt at the bottom hem and whip it over my head on to the ground.  Anticipating Beca’s next request, I reach around my back and unhook my bra, allowing my breasts to fall slightly. 

 

Beca pushes me back into the chair and settles between my legs, her mouth on my chest. She flicks a nipple with her tongue and then surrounds it with her lips, drawing it out with increasingly more aggressive suction.  Then she moves to the other nipple, repeating the action. Over and over again. Back and forth until my lower back wrenches off the chair and my hips cant upwards into hers. 

 

I can’t help but moan, which only stokes Beca’s fire.  She reaches down and undoes the button and fly of her jeans.  Without looking – her eyes still on my chest, transfixed on what her mouth is doing to my nipples – Beca fumbles for my hand, turns it palm side up and slides it down her stomach, guiding it under the waistband of her pants and her underwear to her wet pussy. 

 

Almost on instinct, I start to rub Beca the way I know she likes it – two fingers, right on either side of her clit.   Beca rocks against my hand, in time with my touch. 

 

“Feel that, Chlo? That’s for you.” She pushes her hips down onto my fingers to get more friction and my whole hand slides against her silky heat. “Only you. No one fucking else. Understand?” 

 

My eyes are closed.  I can’t see – but I can hear and feel - how desperate Beca is for me to believe her, and I nod anyway because I know.  I know that no one else can make Beca feel the way I do and only I turn Beca on like this. Only I can make her come. 

 

Except.

 

Except she doesn’t come.  She yanks my hand away even though I can feel she’s so close.  

 

“What?  What’s wrong? Why did you stop?”

 

Beca stands up and puts her head in her hands.  “I can’t - I can’t believe you thought... _ that  _ about me.  That I could do that to you.  What the fuck, Chlo?”

 

I can’t bring myself to look her in the eye.  “Beca, please…” I plead, covering my bare chest.

 

“Please what, Chlo?  Please don’t be mad? Please forgive you?” She paces in front of me. “I have loved you for so long. I have watched you leave for weeks on location shoots, surrounded by the whole spread of  _ People’s  _ Most Beautiful People and it has never once entered into my head to question you or doubt you.  And here you are, so easily convinced that I’m going to risk the most precious thing in my life.  EVER. on some lovesick 24-year old.” 

 

“I don’t - I just…”

 

In an instant, Beca is back on top of me grinding into me with her thigh, drilling the thick seam of my jean shorts into me.  I grip her shoulders to try and push her back, but Beca is stronger than she looks, especially now, fueled by hurt. 

 

She’s wordless, emotionless, but frantic as she undoes the button fly and yanks both my short and my undies to my ankles in one go.  After that, there’s no teasing and no gentle, loving caresses. Just the sensation of her fingers inside me. It’s hard (not in a good way) and loveless. 

 

I’m not going to come I know it.  Beca knows it. The point is….

 

“Beca, you’re hurting me.  Please.” 

 

She snickers at my comment and withdraws her hand.  “You know, I’m not even mad that you thought I was cheating.  It happens. I mean, I wish you would have talked to me - “ 

 

“I tried, Beca. I did.” 

 

She waves me off.  “What hurts more is that you even thought I could do that..I would do that to you.” 

 

Tears are rolling down her face now and she’s abandoned any efforts to try and stop them or hide them.  

 

I bite back a sob.  Beca notices I’m crying and takes my face in her hands, her forehead against mine.  “I love you. I love you so fucking much Do you know that?” I nod and she kisses me hard, but this time it feels different.

 

For the first time, Beca looks at me, really looks at me and all motion ceases. “Baby?” My hands are on Beca’s cheeks, then in her hair, and then around her neck.  I’m frantic and I don’t really know where to touch her to convey how sorry I am, how much hurt I know I caused. 

 

But Beca being pure Beca stills me.  She drapes her body directly on top of mine, resting her head on my chest and the weight of her is comforting.  Almost immediately, I feel Beca’s lips on my collarbone, kissing me, her tears stinging my skin. And then, Beca doesn’t move.  

 

Beca never wavers.  

 


End file.
